


The Two-Faced Dolly

by chocochurros



Category: Goldilocks and the Three Bears (Fairy Tale), Original Work
Genre: Another school assignment, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 05:32:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12698373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocochurros/pseuds/chocochurros
Summary: Rewrite of part of the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears, from the perspective of a mouse. Finished February 14th, 2017.





	The Two-Faced Dolly

I was going about my daily business - finding bits of food in the Bear residence - when I saw her. A little girl, around eight years old, with golden curls, blue eyes, and a vapid, freckled face. Goldilocks - what an original name. It was the third time I’d seen her this month. Why her parents let her roam the woods alone, I have no idea, but she persisted, even though she almost got eaten by a wolf the last time she’d come along this path; she had been too busy whining about losing her precious red cape to thank the woodcutter that saved her. And here she came again, still unsupervised, and with seemingly no motivation to have entered the area in the first place. The sight of her made me angry for a moment, but I reminded myself that she didn’t have anything to do with me. So I kept looking for scraps (there are usually plenty around; the Bears are very clumsy eaters). I had found a nice half strip of bacon before I heard the doorknob jiggle. Oh no she didn’t. 

I quickly dashed to the mantel, hiding in the shadows. I did not want that little blonde monster seeing me; I knew that she would either freak out and try to kill me, or take initiative and try to kill me. C’est la vie for a mouse. If she were anyone else, there was a possibility of her running off, but I knew this girl. She was a menace. She looked all innocent and ditzy, but she had the mind of a cold-blooded killer. A cold-blooded, girl-scout-cookie-selling killer.

When she entered the house, smiling like Shirley Temple had lost her will to live, I almost expected a thunderclap; but only a counterfeit giggle as she made a beeline for the porridge. Of course she would. At least I was considerate enough not to eat someone else’s breakfast before they were done with it. The fact that the table was five feet off the ground had nothing to do with it, I assure you.

Anyway, she proceeded to gulp down half of Papa Bear’s porridge in one go, spitting it back out and proclaiming its stupidity immediately after. Her reaction somewhat surprised me; I knew that it was warm, but the Bears had left for their walk nearly half an hour before. I wasn’t willing to taste it now, though. She tried Mama Bear’s next, eliciting a similar response, but to the cold this time. I honestly have no idea why her reactions were so severe. The meals were both the same temperature, and less than a minute had passed between her two tastes. Perhaps it was the placebo effect? In any case, she thought that the baby’s porridge was the best, and she ate the whole bowl with seemingly no remorse. Don’t think that she hadn’t absolutely demolished the parents’ bowls, though. Maybe she just wanted to ruin little Arnold’s day. 

Whatever the reason, I had seen enough. As she noticed the chairs, I scurried out the door, which she had conveniently left open. I really didn’t want to see the carnage that would ensue when the Bears got home. Maybe I would go to her grandmother’s house, instead; I wouldn’t feel bad for anything, knowing that she played a part in bringing Goldilocks into the world. I was almost onto the path when I heard the splintering of a chair and an insincere “oopsie daisy!” hailing from the Bears’ home. Yes, going to her grandmother’s house seemed like a very good idea indeed.


End file.
